Page 60 of Three Steps Behind

“Oh shoot! The cookies,” she said. “I left them in the car.” She could still taste the combo of peanut butter and chocolate and smell the soft dough as he made the cookies this morning, following a family breakfast.

“I’ll get them.” Deck started to turn.

“Hang on,” she said, grasping the end of his black tie and tugging him to her.

“Your tie needs some rework.” She smiled at the mishap that was his tie.

“Yeah.” He gave a cheesy grin. “I imagine it does. I can never remember if it’s the rabbit through the hole or the frog jumping over it.”

She chuckled, thankful for the momentary joy it infused. “I think it’s the rabbit around the loop and through the hole or something like that, but there you go.” She smoothed it out and stepped back. He cleaned up nice.

“Deckard MacLeod.” Veronica Melling headed up the brick steps for them. “I’d recognize that backside anywhere.” She chuckled.

Deck set his jaw, clearly the opposite of flattered.

Veronica was harmless, but she spouted embarrassing comments at times—most of the time. She and Riley had become friends, though, which was good. Veronica needed a decent friend in her life.

“I’ll be right back,” Deck said, squeezing around Veronica and her new husband, Brad, then down the steps. Harper moved to the side, allowing the couple and a few others to pass by and into the house.

Seconds later, the front door opened again, the hum of voices pitching high. She turned to find Nick standing in the doorway. His pink polo shirt and faded jeans were hardly the attire of a grieving widower. “Harp.” He smiled.

Her nickname, started by Taylor when they were in undergrad together. But on Nick’s lips it rankled her.

“What are you doing out in the cold?” He rubbed his arms as another chilling gust of air whooshed by, but at least the sun remained out. “Please come in. We’ve got a roaring fire in the fireplace as well as in the fire pit outside. The patio heaters are on too, as it’s getting pretty crowded in here.”

“A lot of people loved Taylor.” Don’t start crying yet. Once she opened the floodgates, it was all coming out—the devastating and sudden loss of Taylor, what happened in Syria, the sadness of knowing that she and Deck would never be more than friends . . .

“She was easy to love.” Nick’s words grated on her ears.

And easy to cheat on. She buried the snarky reply.

Nick stepped back, welcoming the gang inside.

Heat wafted out, taking the chill out of her bones.

Before she realized what was happening, Nick had stepped behind her and grasped the collar of her coat.

She stiffened.

“Whoa! You’re tense. You should try my masseuse. I went this morning, and I feel so much more relaxed.”

Relaxed at a funeral? Or as close to a funeral as they’d get for sweet Taylor. That had to be a first.

He helped her slip out of her coat and hung it on a hook of the already-piled-high coatrack.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He smiled.

Smiling. Faded jeans. A massage. Nothing about Nick screamed funeral or even remembrance ceremony, and certainly not a grieving widower. She hated Taylor had died knowing about her husband and his extracurricular activities.

“Here you go,” Deck said, pushing through the crowd to reach her side. He shoved the plate into Nick’s hands.

“Cookies.” Nick stole one and broke off a bite. “Wow! These are good. I didn’t realize you could bake, Harp.”

She cringed again at the sound of her nickname on his lips. That was for friends, and he, most certainly, wasn’t one. Not anymore. Okay, objective was out the window. She’d have to trust Deck to be the objective one when it came to Nick, which should be easier given he hadn’t known Taylor.

“Deck made them.” She forced a smile, hoping it didn’t scream “You suck.” Real mature. But on a basic level, it was the truth. How he’d treated Taylor during the last few months of her life sucked. There was no way around it, but they wouldn’t get anything out of Nick with vinegar. Although, she wasn’t convinced they would with honey either.